


it turned out so right

by drunkonyou



Category: CHASM (band), Harry Styles (Musician)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, I mean kind of, M/M, Marriage Proposal, i twisted things to fit my narrative, that's all folks!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 17:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17605712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkonyou/pseuds/drunkonyou
Summary: And as they race past twelve stories, the numbers above the big metal doors indicating they’re growing closer and closer to Harry, Mitch is suddenly afraid he’s going to do something stupid when they see him. Like, propose.





	it turned out so right

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to jenny and a star is born for this
> 
> dedicated to the gc :-)

Mitch hasn't seen Harry since Christmas. 

Since then it's been nothing but scheduled phone calls that last until the crack of dawn and drawn out text messages, and while Mitch loves falling asleep to Harry's voice, growing slower and deeper and nearly incoherent as it gets later and later on his end, nothing beats the real deal. This is the longest they've been apart since that night back in Jamaica when Mitch kissed Harry for the first time on the beach three drinks in and asked him to be his. 

The first break in schedule for all of them falls around Harry's birthday, so the rest of the band jumped at the opportunity to celebrate Harry's 25th in Japan with their missing link. Mitch had tried not to feel too disappointed while they set everything up that he's not reuniting with Harry on his own. The thought is selfish and he spends the days leading up to the trip tamping it down and replacing it with the fact that he should be thankful he finally gets to see Harry at all. 

They anticipated arriving in Tokyo the morning of February 1st, but Clare found an earlier flight that would have them touching down the night before, so they switch and make sure not to mention it to Harry. The prospect of surprising him like that gives Mitch a thrill. 

When they land at Haneda Airport, there isn't anyone waiting to take them back to the hotel Harry has been staying at, no one holding up a sign that says _CASM_ like Harry joked there would be. They tug their luggage through the throng of locals and tourists alike and stand on the curb waiting for a cab. It's all very normal. 

When a taxi pulls up alongside them Adam climbs in the front passenger seat, giving the driver a hefty handshake and a bright smile despite having just spent the last eleven hours on a plane. Clare and Sarah claim the two seats in the middle and Mitch is left in the very back surrounded by everyone's carry-ons. 

When they begin to move Sarah presses her nose to the window and says, "It's so good to be back." 

Clare laughs as she applies a fresh coat of lipgloss in her phone camera. "I've been away so long I feel almost like a tourist." 

The cab rolls to a stop not twenty minutes later just as the sun is beginning to sink behind the Tokyo skyline. After retrieving their luggage and paying the very nice driver with the Yen they acquired at a money exchange machine in the airport, the group is floored at the sheer size of the hotel they stare up at. 

"That's Japan for you," Clare says with a wistful sigh and starts towards the vast building. The rest share a look full of equal excitement and follow after her. The lobby they step into is the size of a football field but it barely phases them. After knowing Harry Styles for so long you sort of get used to the luxuries. It takes them a minute to locate the front desk though, and when they do one of the women behind it gives them a very conspicuous once-over, probably wondering what a group like them, with their sweatshirts and sleep-mussed hair, is doing in a place like this. She regains her composure as they get closer, and offers them a polite smile. 

"May I help you?" 

"We're here to visit someone? Uh, Harry Styles?" Mitch lowers his voice when he says it, though he knows he probably doesn't need to. 

The woman simply looks at him, then picks up a phone sitting at her side. "I'll ask Mr. Styles if he's expecting guests. Can I get your names?" 

The four of them hold out their hands to stop her, shaking their heads. Clare tells her it's a surprise, that they're actually supposed to be here the next day, and the woman behind the desk lowers the phone back into its cradle. 

"Can I get your names?" She asks again. 

They tell her their names and she clicks around on her computer for a second. When she finds what she's looking for she graces them with another pinched smile and hands them each a key card. 

"Looks like you're in our system after all. Mr. Styles is in the Deluxe Suite, up on the twelfth floor. Enjoy your stay." 

They skip to the elevator giddy, like kids on a field trip that managed to escape their chaperone for a while. Mitch has the honor of pressing the button that will take them to their designated floor, and when the doors shut and they're jolted into motion, Mitch is reminded why they're there, and his palms begin to sweat where they're clutching the railing. Harry is in this very building, stationed somewhere above them probably asleep and completely unaware that his bandmates are in the same timezone as him again, that _Mitch_ is in the same timezone again. And as they race past twelve stories, the numbers above the big metal doors indicating they're growing closer and closer to Harry, Mitch is suddenly afraid he's going to do something stupid when they see him. Like, propose. 

The elevator shudders to a halt and the loud ding indicating they've arrived at their destination pulls him out of his reverie. The doors open to reveal a gaggle of teenagers in their pajamas chatting animatedly and they stop when they catch sight of the four of them. The teens step into the elevator slack-jawed and snapping indiscreet photos, and as the doors shut, Mitch is pretty sure he heard one of them faintly say _"holy shit"_. 

They laugh and start down the long expanse of hallway, lined with gold handrails and fine art and the ugliest patterned carpet Mitch has ever seen. When they're well away from the row if busy elevators, Adam nudges Mitch in the side with his elbow. 

"Do you think Harry will have seen the pictures of us by the time we reach his room?" 

"Let's hope not," Mitch tells him. "Don't wanna ruin the surprise." 

"Let's hope Harry is even home," Sarah supplies. 

Mitch hadn't thought of that when they made the mutual decision to catch an earlier flight, but when they finally reach the end of the hallway and are faced with none other than the _Deluxe Suite_ , Mitch promptly forgets about that possibility because he can hear the telltale sign of an acoustic guitar inside the room. 

The four of them come to a stop as quietly as possible, and as Sarah raises her fist she beams at them, mischief clear in her eyes. She knocks rhythmically five times, and the music stops abruptly. The silence is followed by the pounding of running feet, and then two more knocks from the inside of the door before it's behind swung open to reveal the beaming face of Harry. 

"You're fucking early!" 

Clare and Sarah shout gleefully and launch themselves at the body standing in the doorway. Adam steps around Mitch to join in on the group hug, and when the three of them pull away and drag their luggage into the suite, there stands Harry in all his glory. He's already in his pajamas, looking soft and warm in his cotton shorts and ratty t-shirt, and Mitch doesn't spend another second away from him. He crosses over the threshold and scoops Harry up, letting go of the handle to his suitcase and dropping his backpack to the floor with a thud. He winds his arms around Harry's waist and burrows his face into the junction of his shoulder, relishing in the warmth and smell he's been away from for too long. 

"You're early," Harry says again, softly and just for him. He rubs his hands up and down Mitch's back with spread palms like he's trying to soak up every inch of him. When he pulls away he's still smiling. He pushes the glasses he was wearing to the top of his head, pulling his hair away from his face, which has gotten longer since Mitch last saw him in person. He leans in for a kiss and Mitch all but sighs against his mouth. _Too long._

"We wanted to surprise you," Mitch tells him, keeping his hands on his waist and slipping his fingers beneath the hem of Harry's shirt. He presses his thumbs into the sharp points of his hip bones. 

"It sure is a surprise," Harry says and pecks Mitch on the lips again for good measure. "I would've...tidied up a bit." 

He gestures to the living area which is strewn with books and papers and clothes. Clare, Sarah, and Adam have found their way onto the attached balcony to watch what's left of the sunset together, bags abandoned inside the sliding glass door. 

Mitch nearly snorts. "The dishes started to look like the leaning tower of Pisa back in Jamaica," his heart squeezes at the thought of their time on the island, "so I didn't expect much." 

Harry shakes his head and pulls him in for another hug. Mitch goes easily, drinking in his smell of day old cologne and feeling like he could fall asleep right there in the doorway to the suite. They stand there for a moment longer, wrapped up in each other and enjoying the faint chatter of their bandmates from the balcony. 

"I've missed you," Harry murmurs. "I was getting sick of the Skype calls." 

Mitch squeezes his sides. "Yeah, nothing beats this. I missed you too." 

He leans in for another kiss, but stops short at the interruption of his growling stomach. Harry lets out one of his sudden abrasive laughs and drops his head onto Mitch's collarbone. Mitch can feel the blush on his cheeks. 

"I didn't eat much on the plane," he doesn't tell him it's because he was too nervous to. 

Harry pulls back and tugs Mitch's beanie off, releasing the mess of hair he'd meticulously shoved beneath it. He throws the hat onto the kitchen counter. 

"Let's get some food in you then." 

Harry orders them all room service from a laminated menu stuck to the fridge with a rainbow magnet, and when the abundance of food arrives on a little silver cart after everyone is showered and dressed in fresh clothes he wheels it into the master bedroom. Harry brings his guitar into the bedroom and Mitch does the same. Everyone has their laptops and phones out and they take turns going over the things they constructed while away, Mitch and Harry strumming out half-finished tunes between bites of food. 

Between the five of them they have a plethora of songs and ideas that could easily become something tangible were they in a proper studio with the right equipment. But for now, this'll do, their documents and notebook pages full of lyrics and two guitars. The prospect of finally getting into the studio sometime soon is tantalizing and Harry promises they'll go the moment the sun comes back up. 

Eventually, when everyone's plates are empty and their bellies full, the two of them shed their instruments and Harry crawls between Mitch's legs on the bed. He scrolls through a half-finished song on his phone, adding in a word here and there. Sarah and Clare are curled up together on the divan by the window, half comatose from the amount of food they just inhaled and sharing a bottle of wine Harry had also ordered, and Adam is leaning against the doorframe FaceTiming Emi, speaking quietly while he says goodnight to his family. 

When Adam pockets his cellphone he announces he's turning in for the night, and Sarah and Clare follow suit, handing off the half drunk bottle to Mitch who takes a swig and sets it on the nightstand. He and Harry wave to their bandmates and watch as they head to the spare rooms the suite also houses. 

Suddenly it's finally just the two of them, and Mitch leans over to kiss him square on the mouth. He feels Harry smile against his lips. 

"It's just me and you," he whispers. 

Harry sits up and kisses him again, this time with the vigour he prefers not to display when their friends are around. He kisses him hard and long, pressing Mitch back against the headboard, and when he pulls away his eyes are bright under the dim lighting. Mitch could stare at him like this all night long. 

"I love you." 

And Mitch swears his heart skips a beat in his chest. Harry's said it before, both of them have said it more times than they can count, but every time feels like the first. 

He kisses him yet again in answer. If there's a world record for how many times someone has kissed their partner in one night, Mitch is sure he's surpassed it. 

Harry leans over the edge of the bed and picks up his guitar. He scoots back away from Mitch on the bed so he can comfortably rest the instrument in his lap. Mitch takes another sip of the wine as Harry begins to pluck a few random chords. Soon a tune comes from the random plucking and Mitch at once recognizes it as "Strangers in the Night". 

It's the song that was playing the night they got together, coming from the muffled speakers of an old record player in the next room over, and as Mitch watches Harry hunched over his guitar, eyes closed and hair falling into his eyes because he'd discarded his glasses hours before, that same feeling is reigniting in the pit of his stomach. It's all-encompassing, suffocating, makes Mitch barely able to look at Harry without breaking out in a cold sweat. 

It's that same feeling he had that night in Jamaica, the first time they had sex, the first time they said _I love you_. It's the feeling he gets when something important is about to happen. 

Mitch can't breathe. Watching Harry sitting cross-legged at the end of this king-sized bed playing their song, he can't breathe. 

He climbs off the bed and grabs the wine from the nightstand. "I'll be right back," he murmurs, and leaves the room. 

Out in the living room he throws himself down on the sofa beside his backpack. He takes a sip from the bottle and wonders what he's doing. He can still hear Harry faintly playing the Frank Sinatra melody from the bedroom, and he closes his eyes against the sound. His chest aches. 

The playing stops. Harry calls his name. 

Mitch jumps to his feet. "Be right there!" 

He sets the bottle on the coffee table next to a short stack of magazines and picks his bag up from its place on the couch. He rummages through it, only half realizing that what he's looking for is a ring. He rarely wears jewelry, but he needs something to slip on Harry's finger before he explodes. He can't drop to one knee with empty hands lest he wants to look like a fool, and he's half tempted to steal something of Clare or Sarah's when he comes across a box of spare guitar strings. 

Mitch has never been one for arts and crafts, but he tries his best to twist one of the wires into a small band, then takes another and knots it into something resembling a diamond, though it looks more like a rose. It's cheap and crude but it's the best thing Mitch has right now. He fumbles with the handmade ring until Harry calls his name again, tweaking it until it's as perfect as it'll get, considering it's a fucking guitar string. 

He swallows, mouth dry enough to make it almost painful, and heads back into the bedroom. Harry is still on the made bed, now with his head on the pillow and his phone held above his face. His glasses are back on, and he's rubbing the top of his left foot with his right, and Mitch has never wanted to marry someone so bad in his life. 

When Harry spots him lingering in the doorway, he lowers his phone to his chest and grins. "Where's the wine? Did you go out there to chug it?" 

Mitch tries to crack a smile but it probably comes out more like a grimace than anything. His heart is beating so hard against his chest it hurts. His palms feel disgustingly sweaty. A worried crease appears between Harry's eyebrows and he sits up. 

"You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost." 

Mitch swallows and drops to one knee on the white carpet. It's less than graceful, his knee will probably hate him later. He brandishes the handmade ring and it elicits a gasp from Harry. 

"What the fuck? What the _fuck_?" 

"Harry—" 

He bursts into tears. 

Mitch's eyes widen and he scrambles back onto the bed, dragging Harry into his lap. 

"Babe," Mitch coos. His nerves dissipate when he recognizes Harry's crying to be happy tears. "Harry, look at me." 

Harry wipes his nose on Mitch's shirt and says into his shoulder, "you're fucking _proposing_." 

He laughs shakily. He can feel his pulse rabbiting against the base of his throat. "I hope that's okay." 

Harry picks his head up. His lashes are matted together and there's tears dotting the inside of his glasses. Mitch plucks the glasses from his face and sets them on the comforter beside them. He holds the ring up again and Harry makes a small noise but he doesn't cry anymore. 

"Harry, I—" he stops. "I don't know what to say." 

Harry laughs and uses the neckline of his shirt to wipe at his eyes. "I'm guessing you didn't plan this." 

He holds the ring higher. "Can't you tell?" 

Harry's squints. "Is that a guitar string?" His voice cracks. 

"I'll get you something nicer tomorrow, I promise." 

Harry touches the hand Mitch is holding the ring in gently, ghosting his fingers over the knobs of his wrist. "Don't you _dare_ , Mitchell Rowland. Now ask me already before I start crying again." 

Mitch clears his throat, stomach twisting again. "Harry, will you marry me? Please?" 

Harry's face blooms into the most gorgeous smile he's ever seen. "Of course." 

Mitch lets out a relieved breath (as if Harry would say _no_ after all that) and slips the ring onto his left finger, the only one void of any jewelry, and it's a perfect fit despite being crafted in two minutes out of some spare guitar string he found at the bottom of his backpack. It looks ridiculous next to his collection of expensive rings but Harry admires it like it's the best thing he's ever seen. 

The alarm clock on the nightstand chimes, indicating the arrival of midnight. February 1st. 

Harry's still staring at his hand, wiggling his fingers, when Mitch lifts his chin. 

"Happy birthday, spouse-to-be." 

And he kisses him. 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: iesbianjedi  
> tumblr: harryswilde


End file.
